Temptress of Down

Sea Fever

Grandpa & Lilli

It has been a while since my last post as we’ve been busy travelling again. Kevin has been crossing the time zones again zig-zagging across the African continent from Egypt to Nigeria (via Dubai) then to Jo’burg for a week’s holiday, on to Cape Town and back to Jo’burg. On returning to Dubai he almost immediately departed for a week in Ghana arriving back this morning at 7am.

 

Bathtime at home

 Meanwhile I was able to spend almost three weeks with the JvN’s, lazing by the pool, playing with granddaughter Lilli and generally enjoying the cooler Spring weather on offer. During the Eid holiday we all decamped to a static caravan by the river in Sabie, a lovely quiet spot with monkeys in the rain forest covering the hilltops across the river (actually they qualify as mountain tops as we were so high up!).


Holiday home from home at Merry Pebbles, Sabie
The “Merry Pebbles” of the Sabie River

Back in Dubai we are once more getting into the swing of things as the temperatures begin to fall to levels more hospitable to outdoor activities with sailing, camping and BBQs events already in the diary. Returning home reminded us that much as we love Jo’burg and its fairly equable climate, it is just too far from the sea. I don’t need to be in or on the sea every day, just a glimpse of it sparkling in the distance will satisfy but better to be at sea with the stars etched across night sky overhead. Swimming pools, babbling rivers and massive thunderstorms over 300 miles inland just aren’t an adequate replacement for what John Masefield aptly called “Sea Fever”:
I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

One comment

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